


Loners, Together

by betawho



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Introspection, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-01
Updated: 2015-02-01
Packaged: 2018-03-09 22:53:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3267395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/betawho/pseuds/betawho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There isn't another way." "I didn't say there was, Sweetie."  --  How could he understand what he asked of her. Asking her to kill him, to allow herself to kill him...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Loners, Together

Alone. River had always been alone. Yes, for some of it she had Amy and Rory. But for most of her life, for most of what she _was_ , she had always been alone.

The Doctor didn't understand that. For all that he considered himself a loner, the man was rarely alone. He had friends up and down the timestream, his Tardis was always full of Companions and noise and excitement. Comraderie.

Not so for her. She really was alone. Alone in Stormcage. Alone in the orphanage. Alone, despite Amy and Rory, in Leadworth. Even in college, where she'd had friends, she'd still been alone.

Until him.

How could he understand what he asked of her. Asking her to kill him, to _allow_ herself to kill him.

How could she kill the only person who'd ever made her not alone? The only person she knew who really cared. Oh, not for the facade of Mels, lying in wait in Leadworth all those years. Not for "Melody Pond" the infant that Amy and Rory still idealistically loved, never having had to put up with childish tantrums or teenage screams.

He was the only one who loved her, River, the name she'd taken for herself, with all her history, all her tinkered biology, all her training and brainwashing and psychopathic tendencies.

But beyond that, he loved _her_. The her that had no name, the her that had no history. The her that was smart and funny and frighteningly brave, who drove him crazy, and engaged his mind and played with him and flirted with him and _understood_ him.

The her that could go anywhere in time, but still loved archeology. Who loved the intrigue of it, the mental puzzles of it, who loved the dreams and possibilities of it, and even the dirt and sweat of it.

He was the only person in the universe who was unreservedly delighted to see her. Who wasn't intimidated by her, the one who thought she was cute enough to boink on the nose.

How could she kill him? How could she do that and remain sane? It wasn't that he was perfect, or something to worship or admire. It wasn't because he was a "legend" or a "prince in shining Tardis."

It was because he was the open arms, and the teasing glint, and the irritation over admiring chagrin. It was because he was the other piece to her puzzle. It was that she fit right in that spot between his hearts, just as he fit right in that spot between hers.

It wasn't anything as hokey as "being 'part' of each other," they were both too wildly individualistic for that. It was that they were at their best wildly individual selves _together._

For the girl who'd fled monsters and lived and died on the streets as a child, there was no surety in life. No belonging. No welcome.

None but that annoyed sigh and eye roll when she caroled, "Hello, Sweetie." And that secret pleased smile to see her he thought she never saw. The knowledge that _here_ was her hand to hold onto; when she was afraid, when she needed to run, or just when she needed not to be alone.

"But I have to die."

"I'll suffer if I have to kill you."

"More than every living thing in the universe?"

" _Yes_."

—

* * *

_For more stories by this author click[here](http://archiveofourown.org/users/betawho/works)._  
 _Please take a moment to leave a comment in the box below._


End file.
